


Two Birds

by TJade



Category: Spies In Disguise (2019)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Attempt at Humor, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Humor, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:27:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 15,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23227063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TJade/pseuds/TJade
Summary: “The H.T.U.V. Rehabilitation Program, or R.P., is an integral part of the new nonlethal approach the agency is taking.  Instead of ‘taking out’ people, we’re taking them in.  This way, former criminals can reintegrate into society, being able to contribute to the world instead of wasting away behind bars.  It’s a much more constructive use of taxpayer dollars.”“You are giving him weapons.  And you’re sending him into the field?!”
Relationships: Killian & Original Female Character(s), Lance Sterling & Killian, Lance Sterling & Original Female Character(s), Walter Beckett & Killian, Walter Beckett & Lance Sterling, Walter Beckett & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 57





	1. Used to It

Terry wasn’t sure if he was used to the nightmares or not.

Being _used_ to something implied a certain amount of mundanity, didn’t it? If you were used to something, it shouldn’t throw you off, at least not too much. And if something happened to you over and over again, you should be used to it. He should be used to this.

Then again, being used to the memories of screams and gunfire probably wouldn’t do any favors for his sanity. Not that he didn’t already feel like he was going insane some days.

His phone beeped. A message from Tess, probably. He’d check it after breakfast. She’d ask him if he’d eaten: this way he’d be able to answer _yes_ honestly. Tess always knew when he was lying. Terry suspected that if he told her he hadn’t eaten _again_ , she’d drive down to his house and force-feed him. Never mind the fact that she probably hadn’t eaten anything other than cereal and cup noodles for the past week; Tess had always been more concerned about her little brother’s well-being than her own.

Terry opened the fridge and grabbed a yogurt cup, peeling back the lid to find that the contents were about as edible as the mold growing in the corner of his apartment. (He’d been calling his landlord repeatedly about that- so far, he hadn’t gotten a reply.) Sighing, he tossed the yogurt, resigning himself to the grocery trip ahead.

He’d just managed to hunt down his wallet when the doorbell rang. Ordinarily he would’ve checked who was outside. This morning, however, he was sleep-deprived, still trying and failing to shake off memories of weapons and corpses. He was tired of the nightmares, tired of trying to pretend to be a functional human being for his sister’s sake.

Terry sighed deeply, opening the door and leaning against the doorframe before looking up. “Tess-”

He froze.

The next thing he knew, he was lying on the ground, staring down the barrel of a gun as he felt the front of his shirt grow damp. Thoughts raced through his head, jumbled, blurred.

_There must be a silencer. The shot wasn’t loud enough._

_That’s not Tess._

_Kimura’s in jail- did he send someone? Did he want me dead?_

_I didn’t message Tess back._

_Did they take care of the cameras? A professional would take care of the cameras._

_I’m really going to die._

_Sorry, Tess._

That was his last thought before the gun fired again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise the whole story isn't going to be this dark.


	2. Just Try

“It’s ready? Okay, thanks Tess.”

Walter stuck his phone in his pocket and looked over at his partner. “Hey, Lance? Could you give me a ride?”

Lance shrugged, adjusting his shirt cuffs. “Sure, kid. You picking something up?”

“Tristan’s new prosthetic.”

Sterling frowned, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “Remind me again why we’re giving a hand to the guy who tried to _kill_ you?”

Walter buckled his seatbelt and straightened, his eyes brightening as he launched into his explanation. “The H.T.U.V. Rehabilitation Program, or R.P., is an integral part of the new nonlethal approach the agency is taking. Instead of ‘taking out’ people, we’re taking them _in._ This way, former criminals can reintegrate into society, being able to contribute to the world instead o-of wasting away behind bars. It’s a much more constructive use of taxpayer dollars.”

Lance let one corner of his mouth tug up into a half-smile before shaking his head, checking the car mirrors as he awaited the all-clear. “Little weird picturing Robo-Hand as a grocer, but whatever. Team Weird, right?”

Walter wagged a finger. “His name is Tristan.”

“Somehow I don’t think he wants to be on first-name basis with me.”

“It’s part of the R.P. The program isn’t just about rehabilitation for them, it’s for us too. We need to recognize Tristan McFord as a person, not just a ‘bad guy.’ Hence, the first-naming.”

“‘Hence?’ Do all millennials talk like that, or is it just you?”

Said millennial shrugged and leaned back in his seat, trying to place his gangly legs comfortably as the vehicle was cleared to leave. “My point is, he’s a person just like you and me.”

Lance wrinkled his nose, moving his foot from the brake to the gas pedal. “Um, I don’t think neither of us ever sent a bunch of killer drones after every member of the agency. Least I didn’t. You holding out on me, Walter?”

Walter tapped his fingers on his armrest. “He’s done some bad things…okay, a _lot_ of bad things,” he amended, seeing Lance’s expression. “But it’s not too late for him to do _good_ things, too.”

Lance pressed his foot to the gas, and the car zipped forward. They rode for a while in silence, Lance’s gaze flickering between the road and the GPS as Walter alternated staring out the window and watching his friend’s face.

“You really think he can make up for all he’s done?” Lance asked.

Walter glanced over at his partner, noticing the pensive look in his eyes.

“I don’t think anyone can ‘make up’ for anything,” he answered cautiously. “I think you- I think they just have to try and do better.”

Lance’s reassured smile was brief, but Walter caught it.


	3. Unprofessional

Walter knew Tess had been crying the moment she opened the door.

He wouldn’t say it was because he knew her well or anything. It was obvious enough: her eyes were kind of glassy, her cheeks were pink, and there was a slight tremor to her voice as she greeted him. Still, Walter wondered if anyone else would have picked up on it.

Despite everything, he could tell her smile as she saw him was genuine. She stepped forward, spreading her arms for a hug. “Walter! Walter Beckett!”

He grinned and let her scoop him up, pulling away slightly as she tousled his hair. “Hey Tess. How’ve you been?”

She allowed Walter to disentangle himself from her embrace, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. Her gaze was more focused, but he still noticed her voice trembling as she answered. “Ah, I’m surviving. How about you? Didn’t you get a promotion at work or something?”

Lance coughed into his fist discreetly. Walter shot him a subtle nod before responding to Tess. “Change of department. Exciting for me, boring to hear about. Anyway, while I’d love to catch up, I really need to pick up that order now.”

Tess sighed, running her fingers through her hair as she smiled self-deprecatingly. “No time to chat with the old lady, huh? Okay then.”

Her line of vision moved to Lance. She blinked, doing a mild double-take as she shook her head slightly. Giving the tall, stylish spy a once-over, she pursed her lips appreciatively and held out her hand. “Well _hello_ there, Mister…?”

Lance flashed his signature charming grin as he shook her hand. “Sterling, Lance Sterling.”

Tess inhaled through her nose, her eyes tracing his broad shoulders. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sterling.”

As she walked off to fetch the order, Walter smirked and lightly elbowed his partner in the side. Lance chuckled, shrugging. “Hey, I like to make a good first impression.”

“Oh, I think you made an impression all right,” was Walter’s comment as Tess returned carrying a box.

“So, you gentlemen need a hand?” she quipped, holding the cardboard container towards Walter.

Walter reached underneath the box with one arm and gave her a little salute with the other. “Thank you, milady. Oh, how’s Niki doing?” he added, face brightening.

“She’s doing fine. I think she hit her final growth spurt- the prostheses she’s got now should last her until she starts shrinking.” Tess hugged her torso, fine wrinkles creasing around her eyes. “My baby girl grew up so fast.”

Lance smiled gently. “Niki your kid?”

“My cat,” she clarified. “She was born without her back legs, so I made some for her.”

Walter hesitated, deliberating over whether it was a good idea to ask his next question. “And…how’s Terry?”

He felt a leaden weight form in his stomach as Tess’s expression confirmed his suspicions. Walter had only ever seen Tess cry because of her cat or her brother, and since Niki was doing fine…

Tess took a deep breath. “He’s dead.”

Walter saw Lance flinch at the blunt statement.

“I’m sorry,” he replied blankly, looking over at Walter uncertainly.

Tess wiped her eyes. “It’s fine. I wouldn’t normally talk about this sort of stuff in front of customers.” She sniffed, laughing shakily. “This is pretty unprofessional.”

Walter set a comforting hand on her arm. “Hey.”

Her hazel eyes fixed on his blue ones as he gave her shoulder a light squeeze.

“Sorry. I could tell you’d been crying, and I wanted to know what was wrong.” He smiled sheepishly. “Could Lovey and I come over later? Talk outside business hours?”

She nodded, reaching out and ruffling his hair again. “Okay, Beckett. Now you and your ridiculously good-looking friend get out already; I won’t be able to focus on the rest of my orders if _he’s_ around,” she joked, glancing over at Sterling. “No offense.”

Lance raised his hands. “Believe me, none taken. We’ll get out of your hair.”

Tess walked over to a desk at the opposite side of the room as the pair slipped out the door. Leaning over the chair set behind the desk, she picked up a clipboard, examining the stack of papers it’d accrued as she tapped a couple keys on her computer. Hearing the door click shut, she set the clipboard down and pulled the chair out from the desk.

Sinking into the chair, Tess hid her face in her hands as tears slipped out between her fingers. Her shoulders curved inwards as she forced herself to be silent, her chest heaving with sobs that made no sound.


	4. Tristan McFord

It was odd, being called ‘Tristan’ again.

After Kyrgyzstan, he’d taken the name ‘Killian.’ It had seemed appropriate, considering its meaning (strife, war). His rechristening served the double purpose of making it harder for the agency to find him and rebranding his identity. As Tristan McFord, he’d been known as the leader of a team. Killian, however, was independent of any ties.

When the Beckett boy had enlisted him in the Rehabilitation Program, he hadn’t realized his old name would be such a significant part of it. On some level, he’d considered Tristan to be dead along with the rest of his people in Kyrgyzstan. To have the name resurrected like this was…unsettling.

Another unsettling development was the prosthetic arm.

The Beckett boy was watching him, bright-eyed and eager, waiting to see what sort of reaction his present would elicit. “What do you think?” he asked, as if inquiring after opinions on his tie. (On a previous occasion Beckett actually had asked Tristan what he’d thought of his tie. It was a pink one with unicorns on it- a specific brand of unicorn, apparently, one called ‘Unitee.’ Tristan’s answer was that it suited him. The boy had been inordinately pleased.)

Tristan curled his mechanical fingers into a fist. The movement was smooth, inhumanly so. “It functions well.”

Beckett grinned widely. “Great! Later we’ll put the weapons systems online and test them in a controlled environment so you can get a feel for them before going out into the field.”

Tristan had suspected Sterling wouldn’t be one hundred percent on board with the idea of the former terrorist being armed (figuratively, not literally. The man ought to have enough decency not to begrudge him having all his limbs). What he hadn’t expected was that his being equipped with weaponry would be a surprise to the agent.

It was no secret that Tristan resented Sterling, and so he didn’t bother to disguise his amusement at the spy’s scandalized expression. “Excuse me, WHAT?!”

Walter raised his hands placatingly. “It’s all nonlethal! Everything he has will only be able to restrain at worst.”

“You are giving him _weapons._ And you’re sending him into the _field?!_ ”

Tristan smirked. “Were you uninformed of this little development, Sterling?”

“I did say the point of the R.P. was to make it possible for people who’ve committed crimes to give back to the world,” Beckett pointed out, his blue eyes clear and innocent.

“I thought he was gonna be a grocer!” Sterling protested.

Agent Kappel appeared from behind Sterling, giving Beckett a tap on the shoulder. “Briefing’s in five. Is everyone on the same page yet?”

Beckett swallowed. “Not…exactly…”

Kappel put her hands on her hips and turned to address Sterling. “Lance, you won’t be in the field for this mission.”

Seeing the spy about to interject, she raised a finger and continued. “Instead, you will be acting as handler for our man in the field. No direct interference unless absolutely necessary.”

An invisible vise suddenly squeezed around Tristan’s throat as he considered the implications of Agent Kappel’s statement. Judging from Sterling’s face, both of them were coming to the same horrible conclusion.

He grit his teeth briefly, squeezing his organic hand into a fist to match his artificial one. “Ms. Kappel, am I to understand that-”

She nodded briskly. “Agent McFord, Sterling will be your handler for your first mission. Now that that’s cleared up, we should head to briefing.”


	5. Alias: Magician

Lance didn’t want to be dismissive of Walter’s ideas. The kid had had enough of that for a lifetime. He’d been _triple-fired,_ for goodness’ sake. Walter deserved to be recognized and appreciated, and Lance wasn’t about to go back to doubting his friend just because his ideas were weird.

That didn’t stop every instinct he had from screaming _this is a horrible idea,_ but it did prevent him from shouting “Are you out of your mind?!” at Walter as they sat down across from the man they’d recently kept from wiping out the entire H.T.U.V.

Marcy stood between McFord and Sterling, leaving the chair on her side of the table vacant as she gestured at the screen behind her. Eyes and Ears huddled in the opposite corner, projecting the appropriate images.

“Ever since we took down Kimura, a power vacuum has opened up in the criminal underworld,” Marcy announced, indicating several pictures of the arms dealer surrounded by cronies. “Many of his competitors are moving to take his place. To deal with this issue, we intend to send in our own contender.” She nodded toward Tristan.

Lance frowned, half-raising his hand as if he were in a classroom. “H-hold up, here. How come we’re sending in an _actual criminal?_ Why not send in someone we know we can trust, someone who’s already proven himself in the field?”

“ _Former_ criminal,” Walter answered pointedly. “We aren’t disregarding Tristan’s past actions, but part of the R.P. is judging our people by what they do in the _present_ , here and now.”

“Agent McFord has established connections with Kimura and his associates,” Marcy elaborated. “Lance, everyone knows you’re one of the best, but that’s also the issue here. _Everyone_ knows. We can’t send you undercover as a criminal when your reputation precedes you like it does.”

Lance chewed on his lip, undecided on whether to be mollified by the praise or indignant that ‘Agent McFord’ met the qualifications for this mission while he didn’t. “I could go in disguise. What about that face-changing doohickey Robo-H… _Tristan_ had? Walter, you could remake that easy, yeah?”

Walter shook his head. “I’ve recreated the technology to an extent, but it was already severely limited in what it could do camouflage-wise: facial coverage only, no voice alteration. The current version has increased software capability, but I limited its visual manipulation even more than the previous version.”

Lance blinked. “Mind explaining that in a way that doesn’t require a Ph.D. to understand?”

“With what there is now, Tristan can do some computer tricks and hide his scars, but that’s about it. You wouldn’t be able to use it to disguise yourself, and even if you could, it would only change your face. If your voice didn’t give you away, the fact that you have both your hands would,” Walter explained, glancing over as Tristan sheepishly as he did so. “Sorry.”

McFord drummed his non-mechanical fingers on the table, glaring over at Lance. “Is there a particular reason Sterling needs to be involved with this mission at all?”

Marcy shrugged. “Like I said, he’s one of the best. You’re used to running by a different set of rules, McFord- Lance can direct you, show you the ropes.”

“Believe me, I’m _quite_ familiar with Agent Sterling’s methods.”

Lance frowned, shooting a glance over at Walter. 

Walter set his hand on Tristan’s arm reassuringly. “We do things differently now. There’s no fighting fire with fire: here, we put the fires out. Lance knows how to get stuff done, with or without blowing stuff up. If we all work as a team-”

“Spare me the platitudes, Beckett,” Tristan interrupted, the crease between his eyebrows indicating that he’d heard many similar speeches before. “I’ll play by your rules. The question is, will _he?_ ”

Lance rose from his chair, gripping the edge of the table with one hand as he kept the other at his side, clenched into a white-knuckled fist. “I’m not the criminal here, _Tristan_.”

“Former!” Walter interjected as Tristan mirrored Lance’s movements, his prosthetic hand curling into lines of metal.

“Perhaps not, but I’m hardly the only one here with blood on my hands, _Lance._ ”

Eyes cleared her throat, nudging her glasses up on her nose as a new image appeared on the screen. “Recently one of Kimura’s middlemen was cut out. Terrence Radmond, alias ‘Magician,’ was shot on his doorstep two days ago, likely because of a deal gone wrong. Magician was a popular contact amongst Kimura and company, so if Tristan can infiltrate-”

Lance did a double-take as he saw the figure the picture displayed. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait. Is that…?”

Walter pushed his chair back and stood up, just as stunned as his partner. “Marcy?”

Marcy tensed. “Yes?”

“I know this guy’s sister.”


	6. Confidentiality Precaution

Tess was already near the door when she heard the knock. She pressed her eye to the peephole, smiling at Walter’s fisheye image peering back at her.

She opened the door and put a hand to her hip, grinning down at the kid as he fiddled with his hands. Lovey perched on his shoulder, cooing as Tess stroked the underside of her beak. “Hey! You want popcorn? I made popcorn.”

Walter shook his head, biting the inside of his cheek. “No thanks. I…don’t think we’re going to be able to hang out tonight. Not like we originally planned, anyway.”

Tess shrugged. “That’s okay. Wait, so do you have to go somewhere?”

“Yeah…and you’re coming with me.”

There was a sudden pressure at the side of her neck, and Tess’s world went black.

Tess’s first thought when she woke up was _Crap, I’ve gone blind._

It took her possibly too long to realize that she had not, in fact, gone blind. She couldn’t see anything, but that was probably the fault of the bag over her head.

“Walter?” she asked hesitantly.

“Sorry, Tess,” Walter’s apologetic voice answered. “Confidentiality precaution.”

“At least you didn’t get the headphones,” another, vaguely familiar voice commented.

Tess sat up a little straighter, trying to get a better grasp of her current circumstances. Her hands were cuffed in front of her, instead of behind her, so she could at least lean back in her seat. She could feel that they were in a vehicle, one that had a pretty dang good muffler if the lack of noise from the engine was any indication. The road beneath them was smooth, too- they must be a ways off from her neighborhood if there weren’t any potholes.

Across from her, Tess heard Walter sigh. “I would’ve just asked you to come, but-”

“Hey, don’t sweat it. This bag is way nicer than the one they used last time I was kidnapped,” she reassured him.

“You been kidnapped before?” the vaguely familiar voice asked.

 _Wait, that’s the good-looking guy from before. Lance something._ “For my thirtieth birthday, my brother cooked up this whole thing where-”

“We’re here,” an unfamiliar voice cut in.

A hand gently grasped Tess’s bound wrists and led her forward. She rose to her feet, misjudging how high she was able to stand and bumping her head on the roof of the car. Cursing under her breath, she allowed someone (presumably Lance- the hand above her waist felt larger than Walter’s) to assist her in exiting the vehicle.

Tess blinked as the bag was pulled off her head, squinting at the contrast between the black walls of the surrounding room and the stark lights illuminating them. Walter gave her a little wave, smiling guiltily as he unlocked her cuffs. “Welcome to my workplace.”

Tess glanced around them in undisguised amazement, taking in the professional-looking people and sleek technology. “You’re doing well for yourself, aren’t you Walter?”

One of the professional-looking people, a slender woman with green eyes and brown hair, walked around from the driver’s side of the car. “Ms. Radmond?”

Apprehension set in as Tess examined the woman’s solemn expression. “That’s me. …Am I in trouble?”

The woman held out her hand. “I’m Marcy Kappel. You’ve already met Agents Beckett and Sterling.”

Tess caught Walter’s eye out of the corner of her own. “Agents? What, so you guys are like…some sort of super spies, or something?”

Lance shrugged. “Pretty much.”

Tess crossed her arms and turned so that she could face Walter and Marcy at the same time. “Well, that explains why you were always so cagey about work. Any particular reason why I’m being let in on this secret?”

The silence that ensued did not bode well.

Walter walked over to her and put a hand on her shoulder. “I think we should talk in private.”

Tess attempted to swallow the lump of lead that had formed in her throat upon hearing those words and nodded, following him away from the rest of the group.


	7. One Heck of a Mess

“A mercenary.”

Walter nodded, studying his friend’s face. “Yup.”

Tess stared at him uncomprehendingly. “My brother?”

“Mm-hm.” His voice jumped an octave on the second syllable.

Tess let out a breath that held the note of a disbelieving laugh. “He- there’s no way Terry would’ve hidden something like this from me. We didn’t keep secrets from each other. What if it’s someone else? Couldn’t it be someone else?”

Walter glanced between the picture on the screen and the woman sitting across from him. The pair were practically identical: close-set, hooded hazel eyes; thin, arrow-shaped noses; small, nigh-lipless mouths; diamond-shaped faces. They were also built similarly: narrow bodies with long limbs (though to Walter’s dismay, both of them still possessed broader shoulders than he did). The main distinctions between the two were the hair and the clothes. The man on the screen had platinum blond hair and wore a gray suit, while Tess’s hair was mousy with hints of auburn that were accentuated by her sea green top. Her black slacks did have hints of gray due to the tufts of cat hair coating them, however.

“What do you think?” he asked carefully.

“I think this is crazy. You’re telling me my brother, the guy who spent his spare time practicing stupid coin tricks and making up dance routines to go with his karaoke singing w-was…was some kind of thug for hire?!”

“Tess.” Walter’s voice was quiet, but clear. “Is it him?”

Tess drew in a sharp breath. “I don’t know. It looks like him, obviously.”

“Look at the picture.”

Walter saw her teeth dig into her lip, saw a bead of blood surface on her skin. She turned to the screen reluctantly, her eyes studying the image.

She inhaled shakily. “It’s him.”

Walter moved to her side of the table as she wiped her eyes angrily, her voice breaking as she spoke.

“How can that be him?” she croaked, hot tears dripping down her cheeks. “How is that my baby brother?”

Walter said nothing as he wrapped his arms around her, letting her cry into his shirt.

Lance looked up as Walter exited the conference room.

“She’s taking it about as well as can be expected,” he offered, the optimism in his tone tenuous.

Sterling sighed. “You really think this is a good idea?”

Walter folded his hands. “We’ll have to see if she’s on board with it first. If not, we’ll just dose her with an amnesiac and send her home.”

Lance crossed his arms. “Why bring a civilian in on this? We’ve already got McFord to worry about. It feels like a lot of checks we gotta balance here, kid.”

Walter ran his hands through his hair, exhaling. “I know, I know, it’s just…I don’t have many friends, you know? A-a-and Tess, we’re not super close or anything, but she’s been a good friend to me. I feel like she deserves to know the truth about her brother.”

“Right, I get that. But what about the other thing? That feels a little beyond ‘knowing the truth,’” Lance pointed out.

Walter bit his lip, his blue eyes turning pensive.

“She’s always felt responsible for him,” he finally said. “If there’s anything I know about her, it’s that. She’s always worked to clean up after Terry’s messes. And his death in the wake of Kimura’s incarceration…it’s left one heck of a mess.”

Tess sat alone in the room, staring at the picture on the wall.

“Oh, Terry,” she whispered. “What happened to you?”


	8. Cigarettes or Alcohol

Tess knew the blue-eyed man was going to be a problem the moment she saw him.

When she’d met Sterling, the first thing she’d noticed hadn’t been his charming smile or his _very_ nice figure (though she definitely had noticed those). It had been his eyes. Beneath that stylish demeanor was a brokenness, something that had been lost and couldn’t be replaced. He wasn’t completely shattered, though she got the sense he had been at some point.

But even after things were mended, you could still see the cracks.

Sterling obviously had some issues he was working through, but the blue-eyed man? He was going to _be_ an issue if they had to work together. Hopefully he wasn’t going to be part of the mission.

“This is your partner for the mission,” Kappel informed her.

Aaaaand Tess was doomed.

She shook his hand, trying not to stare too hard at his face. Scars were rarely a thing people wanted to draw attention to. At the same time, she tried to make eye contact like a normal human being, because if this man was going to be her partner she shouldn’t let herself be intimidated by him, right?

“Tristan McFord,” he said.

So much for not being intimidated. His _voice_! Why was his voice so _deep_?! Was he trying to add that edge of menace to it, or was it like that naturally?

Tess nodded, trying to buy herself a few seconds while she remembered her name. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Theresa Radford.”

Kappel squinted at her bemusedly, and what she’d just said suddenly became vividly, horrifyingly evident.

“Radmond! Theresa Radmond!” she squeaked. Pearly gates, why’d she have to regress into an awkward teenager now of all times? At least she didn’t need to stress about acne. “People call me Tess,” she added lamely.

He nodded. She wasn’t certain whether to be grateful for the terse response or not. On one hand, hearing that _voice_ again wouldn’t make her feel any _less_ threatened. On the other hand, her brain kept screaming _what does that mean?! SAY SOMETHING PLEASE I CAN’T READ YOUR MIND_ repeatedly at top volume.

“Mr. McFord is part of the H.T.U.V. Rehabilitation Program,” Kappel continued.

“Oh, ok. Cigarettes or alcohol?” Tess asked. She then proceeded to consider walking off and throwing herself into a trash compactor. Did they have a trash compactor here?

McFord raised his eyebrow at her slightly. _Help._

“Criminal record,” he responded.

“Ah.”

A period of awkward silence ensued. Glancing down to pick some Niki hair off her slacks, Tess saw McFord’s left hand…or lack thereof, depending on how you looked at it.

“I made that arm,” she blurted out, pointing at said prosthetic as if there was another arm she could’ve been referring to.

He hesitated, lifting the mechanical hand and curling its fingers into a fist and _wow,_ Tess was in so much trouble.

“It’s fine work,” he remarked.

She grinned at him nervously. “I do my best.”

Kappel cleared her throat. “Ms. Radmond is the sister of the recently deceased operative we were discussing. Because of her close family resemblance, she's been brought in on this mission to go undercover as the Magician.”

Tess tensed. A series of images flashed in her mind: a grin, a hand, a card.

_Is this your card?_

_Nope. Are you sure you did the trick right?_

A small laugh slipped out before she could stop herself. Kappel turned to stare at her.

“Ms. Radmond?” she asked, her brow creasing in concern.

Tess smiled as her throat tightened. “Terry wanted to be a magician when he grew up.”

She could feel McFord’s eyes boring into her. Tess gulped, willing herself not to curl into the fetal position. “Sorry- I’m new to this sort of thing.”

“Ms. Radmond.”

She blinked, shifting her weight. “Yes?” she said, nearly biting her tongue off to keep from adding _sir._

“You’re quite certain you’re cut out for the work ahead?”

She shrugged nervously, blowing a stray hair out of her face. “If not, I guess I’ll learn.”

He turned so that only the unscarred half of his face was visible, one blue eye still fixed unwaveringly on hers. “We’ll see, I suppose.”


	9. Femme Fatale

There was a phrase for this kind of woman, Tristan knew. What that phrase was escaped him, but he could feel it buzzing in the back of his mind as he shook her hand.

“This is your partner for the mission,” Kappel announced.

The woman looked him over, her hooded eyes widening as she took in his face. Her expression quickly returned to neutral as she met his gaze.

Seeing that she had no intention of making the first move, he introduced himself. “Tristan McFord.”

She nodded, teeth flashing in a crooked grin as she spoke. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Theresa Radford.”

Apparently processing what she’d just said, Theresa shook her head slightly. The corners of her mouth tugged upwards in the ghost of an amused smile. “Radmond,” she corrected herself. “Theresa Radmond.” She ran her teeth over her bottom lip as she looked back up at him. “People call me Tess.”

“Mr. McFord is part of the H.T.U.V. Rehabilitation Program,” Kappel informed her.

“Oh, ok.” Theresa smirked languidly. “Cigarettes or alcohol?” she teased.

He raised an eyebrow, uncertain whether she was flirting or mocking.

“Criminal record,” he stated flatly.

Theresa’s mouth opened in a small _o_. Evidently she hadn’t anticipated such a blunt answer. “Ah.”

She leaned down a bit in order to pluck a tuft of gray fur off her slacks, her lazy demeanor given pause as she took notice of Tristan’s left limb.

“I made that arm,” she told him, gesturing toward it as she fixed her eyes on his challengingly.

_Femme fatale._

The phrase that had previously escaped him returned as he lifted his prosthetic arm, curling his fingers into a fist.

“It’s fine work,” he complimented.

Theresa made that crooked grin of hers again, her eyes sparking with pride. “I do my best.”

Kappel cleared her throat. “Ms. Radmond is the sister of the recently deceased operative we were discussing. Because of her close family resemblance, she's been brought in on this mission to go undercover as the Magician.”

An incredulous laugh slipped out from Theresa’s lips. Kappel turned to study her, brow creasing as she noted Theresa’s mildly pained expression. “Ms. Radmond?”

Her smile now was tight and terse, her words clipped. “Terry wanted to be a magician when he grew up.”

Tristan recalled how Beckett had attempted to justify bringing in yet another ‘unpredictable variable,’ as McFord himself was apparently considered. The boy hadn’t shown the most compelling reasoning, but seeing Theresa Radmond face-to-face, Tristan gained a little understanding as to Beckett’s logic. The woman herself was compelling, charismatic in an unassuming manner, sympathetic in a way that indicated she wouldn’t appreciate pity.

Tristan didn’t trust her.

She was a juxtaposition of too ordinary and too odd. No normal person would react to such a situation so casually. No normal person would act like these circumstances were _normal_. And yet she didn’t share Beckett’s quirkiness; if she was more over-the-top, more _exaggerated_ , somehow, he might believe her taking these things in stride.

Her eyes flickered to his, and she swallowed.

“Sorry- I’m new to this sort of thing,” she apologized.

 _I doubt that,_ he told her silently. “Ms. Radmond.”

She frowned, popping her hip to one side. “Yes?”

“You’re quite certain you’re cut out for the work ahead?”

Theresa blew a lock of hair out of her face and shrugged. “If not, I guess I’ll learn.”

Her answer was too quick, her voice too uncertain. She’d replied nigh immediately, but if she were the type for snappy comebacks, she’d sound more confident.

_I think you have learned._

“We’ll see, I suppose.”


	10. Nobody Noticed

“Couldn’t she just dye her hair?” Lance asked.

Walter bit his lip as he fiddled with the Multi-Pen, checking its contents for the tenth time. Lovey sat atop his head, nuzzling his hair and cooing comfortingly. “She really wanted to avoid that if she could. Tess doesn’t want to look like a copy of her brother 24/7.”

Lance shrugged. “I mean, they were twins, so…”

Walter and Lovey shot him identical reprimanding glares. “ _Lance._ ”

“No, hey, I get it, I get it! It’s cool,” he replied, raising his hands in surrender. Fiddling with his bow tie, he glanced over at the bathroom door. “Hey, does it normally take fifteen minutes to put on a wig?”

Walter frowned, clicking the Multi-Pen absently and sending up several small puffs of purple mist. “Let’s give her another minute.”

Tess stared in the mirror, thumbing the small scar on her left temple. Terry hadn’t had a scar. Would anyone notice?

She sighed, straightening the gray suit jacket the agency had provided. It was a little big on her, but it would’ve been a little big on Terry as well, so it was probably fine.

As she tugged on the lapels, another memory played behind her eyelids. Her brother, wearing a too-big suit and a ridiculous grin, holding out a deck of cards.

_Pick a card, any card!_

Tess chewed the inside of her cheek, studying her hands. Men tended to have longer ring fingers than women, but finger lengths weren’t quite as obvious as scars. Surely nobody would notice a thing like that…right?

A knock at the door jarred her out of her thoughts.

“Tess? You okay in there?” Walter’s voice piped up.

She exhaled slowly, brushing back the blond hair of the wig. “Yeah, I’m coming.”

She pushed the door open and was greeted by a startled pigeon and Walter’s wide-eyed expression.

“Whoa,” he said, stepping back.

Tess tucked one hand in a pocket and tugged at her collar with the other. “Is it really that bad?”

“Bad? You look exactly like him! Now, after we use something to alter your voice-”

She cleared her throat, adjusting her pitch. “Oh, that won’t be necessary.”

He blinked. “…Is that what he sounded like?”

Tess grinned. “We used to imitate each other all the time. One time when we were in college, we switched clothes and went to each other’s classes for a day. A couple of our friends caught on, but nobody else noticed, not even the teachers. We even read each other’s textbooks so we could answer questions in class.”

_Told you no one would notice, sis._

Her grin melted as she pictured hazel eyes bright with mischief, set above a crooked smile that mirrored her own.

She could see it so clearly now, the light in those eyes going out, that smile strained and weak.

_What happened to you?_

Tess hadn’t changed. She’d always been this way: Terry had told her multiple times her consistency was a comfort. But Terry…

She couldn’t reconcile that goofy kid with big dreams and a bigger heart with the cold-eyed man on the screen, not yet. But she was beginning to see how he’d started becoming him.

_Tess._

_Tess?_

“Tess,” Walter repeated, tapping her gently on the shoulder. “You okay?”

_I’m fine, Tess._

(She’d known he was lying. She’d kept pushing, trying to get him to talk, and he’d kept pulling away. Further and further and further until-)

Tess smiled, standing up a little straighter and holding out her hand to Lovey. The pigeon cooed and gave her finger an affectionate nibble. “I’m okay as I can be, I think. You said something about testing gadgets…?”

Walter’s eyes seemed to burn right through her.

_Stop. J-just stop. Please._

_I don’t want to talk about it._

He didn’t push.

Instead, he shrugged and gestured for her to follow him. “You won’t have time to get the most comprehensive field training, but with my gadgets, you should be fine with the basics. I didn’t have _any_ field training on my first mission, but we managed to pull through. Not just because of Lance, either- I mean, obviously part of it was Lance, but he was also a pigeon, so…”


	11. Agent Starling

Lance knew Tess was going through a rough time, so he tried to cut her some slack.

Lance liked her well enough, from what he’d seen of her. She was a lot nicer to Walter than he himself had been back before he’d really known the kid, and she was being pretty cool about the whole ‘your dead brother was leading a double life as a criminal’ thing, all things considered.

But he couldn’t help being the teensiest bit irritated with her when she saw him as a pigeon and burst out laughing.

“Oh my- he’s an _actual_ pigeon?”

Tess bent in half, wheezing, brushing the bangs of the wig out of her face as tears streamed from her eyes.

“He’s a- you’re- p-p-pi- bird!” she sputtered between giggles, slapping her knee.

“It’s biodynamic concealment,” Walter provided helpfully, petting Lovey as she perched atop his head.

Lance sighed as she managed to stand upright. “You done yet?”

She immediately crumpled again, this time lying on the floor as she cackled hysterically.

“I don’t- how do you- talking bird!” she choked out.

The talking bird in question rolled his eyes. “It’s not that funny.”

Tess peeled herself off of the floor, sitting cross-legged as she looked up at the pigeon squatting indignantly on the desk in front of her.

“Sorry, I-I know it’s not really- I wasn’t trying to- ugh,” she muttered, hiding her face in her hands. “M’sorry. I know s’not funny.”

“You sure were laughing a lot at something you knew wasn’t funny,” he snapped, his talons clicking against the surface of the desk as he rose to his full feathery height.

Tess began crying.

Lance blinked, glancing over at Walter with a panicked expression before hopping down next to her.

“Hey, hey, s’all cool,” he reassured her half-heartedly. “I guess it’s a little funny, right? Dude turning into a pigeon.”

“It’s really not,” Tess croaked, her red eyes peering down at Lance. “I just…”

She sniffed, rubbing her face before continuing. “It’s been crazy, you know? You think you know a person, and they’re just…not. They’re not that person.”

He felt his throat tighten as she stared at him.

“That goofy kid with card tricks turned into a cold-blooded murderer, and…well, I guess I did notice, sort of. He’d been kind of different the last few years. Nothing major, but…”

Tess sniffed again, gritting her teeth.

“And now he’s dead,” she finished, her voice breaking on the word _dead._

Lance flinched as she looked away.

“I’m sorry for laughing at you,” she told him, picking at her nails. “I’m just so on edge, and then-” She waved her hands expressively. “Poof! Suddenly, a pigeon.”

Lance chuckled uneasily. “Yeah, I can see how the stress might’ve been getting to you.”

Tess turned to face him again, chewing her lip.

“Would it be terribly condescending if I held you?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Uh, no, I don’t think so. Just don’t squeeze me- there’s a chance an egg might come out. Right, Walter?”

“I wasn’t squeezing you,” Walter objected. “You were likely feeling contractions-”

Lance hopped into Tess’s cupped hands. “Okay, gonna stop you right there.”

“I’m just saying, I know how to hold birds. I don’t _squeeze_.”

Tess snorted. “Not that it would hurt much if you did. When’s the last time you ate something? And Soylent drinkable meal replacement doesn’t count,” she added as Walter opened his mouth.

He closed his mouth and frowned. “I carry a mobile lab on a daily basis. And I’m pretty sure I’m stronger than a pigeon. No offense, Lovey,” he told the pigeon nestled in his curls. She cooed and began preening.

“Hey, how come you apologized to the lady bird and not me?” Lance protested.

Tess smiled and stroked the top of the super-spy’s head lightly with two fingers. “I’m sure you’re a very strong pigeon, Agent Starling.”

Lance squinted at her suspiciously. “Did you mispronounce my name on purpose?”

She raised an eyebrow, eyes half-lidded. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You did. You mispronounced my name on purpose. To make a bird pun.”

“I’m sorry to ruffle your feathers,” Tess quipped.

Lance made a noise of disgust. “Uh, wow. Okay, I see why you’re friends with Walter now.”

Walter put his arms behind his head and leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Yeah, she’s pretty fly.”

Her grin widened as the pigeon she was holding looked on in horror. “Really? You don’t think I’m a bird-brain?”

“Nah, although you can be kind of a mother hen.”

“What can I say, I like having all my eggs in one basket.”

“But you can wing it when necessary.”

Lance’s groan was heard throughout the lab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for all the fowl language.


	12. Powder Keg

It was a remarkable resemblance, Tristan had to admit.

With the addition of a blond wig and the femininity of her figure concealed, Theresa Radmond was practically indistinguishable from her brother. The imitation was likely helped along by her natural slenderness and genetic status as the man’s twin, but he was still somewhat impressed by the effect of such slight alterations.

Theresa drummed her fingers on her knee, expression impassive as she studied the screen through which Kappel was briefing them.

“Katsu Kimura’s two main competitors are Ryker Tiryns and King Forest. Today you’ll be infiltrating a meeting where they’ll be assessing a new weapon for distribution. Agent McFord, you’re going to reestablish your presence in the criminal underworld by making a counteroffer. Ms. Radmond, you’ll be posing as Magician in order to keep a gap in the pecking order from opening up like it did with Kimura. Your cover story is that ‘Killian-’” She indicated Tristan. “-is your employer. Both of you, your objective is to ensure that the weapon makes it into our custody.”

Tristan saw Theresa’s eyes flicker to him before reaffixing themselves to the screen, her teeth sinking into her lower lip briefly. His gaze was caught by the bright pink mark left in the wake of the bite as she spoke to Kappel. “Okay, but he’ll be doing all the talking, right?”

Kappel turned her attention to the disguised woman, her eyes softening as she noted how Radmond was digging her nails into her palms. “Correct. He’ll cover negotiations- you just stand there and look pretty, alright?”

Theresa chuckled nervously. “I can do that.”

He felt a small stab of something between envy and admiration at the ease with which she elicited sympathy. Being a civilian and not a former terrorist gave her a leg up in that department, of course.

Kappel glanced over at Tristan, eyes hardening again. “Agent McFord, your handler will be instructing you throughout this mission. You are not to disobey a single order unless Sterling is overruled by higher authority. Understood?”

Tristan squeezed his mechanical hand into a fist so tight he could feel the metal threatening to deform under the pressure. “Understood.”

Kappel nodded. “Good luck.”

The screen went black.

Tess wished it was harder to see her reflection.

The helicopter they were riding in had a screen between the pilot and the passengers. The screen in question made a pretty good mirror when it was off, which wouldn’t be such a bad thing if she didn’t see her brother every time she caught a glimpse of her own darn face. It was bad enough when she wasn’t _trying_ to look like Terry: with the wig and suit, it was a hundred times worse.

The passenger windows were currently shaded to keep the sun from blinding them, which meant they offered a surface that reflected almost as well as the dark screen. Hooray. She’d tried staring at her feet for a while, but then her brain had helpfully reminded her that she and Terry had had the same foot size. He’d actually tried on her shoes a couple times, even “borrowing” (read: stealing) her high-heeled boots for his Goblin King Jareth costume one time.

Tess almost smiled at the memory.

He’d been smiling a lot more, lately. She’d known the smiles were fake- his real smiles lit up his entire face, little crinkles appearing next to his eyes, his nose wrinkling up slightly. There were other details, too, little nuances that showed he was happy.

She’d had them all ingrained into memory, once. Now they were faded, blurry, like looking through a fogged window. She remembered his fake smiles almost perfectly, though. It probably helped that she saw identical ones almost every time she checked her reflection.

Relief flooded Tess when the screen came on, only to drain out as Marcy reminded her why she was undercover in the first place.

_Magician._

Something curled in her stomach, sharp and sour. She swallowed down the bile in her throat, only realizing she’d been biting her lip when she opened her mouth to speak. “Okay, but he’ll be doing all the talking, right?”

Marcy’s eyes were kind. Tess wished the agent was physically present: she had a feeling that Kappel would lay a comforting hand on her shoulder, or something. She could use that sort of grounding contact right now.

“Correct. He’ll cover negotiations- you just stand there and look pretty, alright?”

Tess forced a laugh. “I can do that.”

Kappel turned her attention to Tess’s mission partner, her green eyes turning cold like a lake icing over. “Agent McFord, your handler will be instructing you throughout this mission.”

Tess noted Tristan’s expression tighten. It was clear that whatever problems he had, one of them definitely involved the world’s greatest spy somehow.

“You are not to disobey a single order unless Sterling is overruled by higher authority. Understood?” Marcy asked sharply.

His eyes flashed, and for a heartbeat Tess thought he might argue.

“Understood,” he answered, his voice low and even.

As Kappel wished them luck on the mission and disconnected, Tess let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She turned to McFord, her blood threatening to freeze in her veins as she saw the metallic fist curled threateningly in his lap.

_Why do I feel like I’m sitting next to a powder keg?_

She closed her eyes and silently prayed this would be over with before somebody lit a match.


	13. You Sure?

“You sure she can handle this?”

Lance had asked about ten variations of the same question ever since Tess had been paired up with _Tristan_ (he was constantly forcing himself not to mentally refer to McFord as “Robo-Hand”).

Walter’s answer was nearly identical every time. “Just give her a chance. If anyone can imitate Magician perfectly, it’s her.”

Listening in on the conversation happening over the comms, Lance wondered vaguely if Robo- if _Tristan_ had any negotiation skills outside of “do what I say or I’ll choke you.” He hadn’t gotten the opportunity to see the (former!) terrorist practice diplomacy, personally. Somehow he doubted that a lot of people had.

_“You are not to disobey a single order unless Sterling is overruled by higher authority. Understood?”_

_“Understood.”_

If he’d been in possession of his hands, Lance would’ve pumped his fist in celebration. As he was, he attempted to do a wing pump and nearly fell off the wire on which he was perched.

Walter’s voice came in over comms. _“Hey, can everyone hear me?”_

_“Loud and clear, Walter. What about you, partner?”_

McFord’s voice was significantly less enthused than the previous two. _“I don’t suppose Sterling’s decided to try ‘flying solo’ and cut off comms?”_

“Sorry, McFord. I’m playing on this team too. You’re stuck with me,” Sterling informed him, smirking as much as his beak would allow.

The disgruntled sigh that followed was all the information Lance needed to picture Tristan’s expression.

A sudden _clink_ caught Lance off-guard. Flapping his wings to keep his balance, he glanced over at his fellow flock members. Lovey was watching him fondly, Jeff was imitating his wing pump, and Crazy Eyes was hanging upside down on the wire. All of them were making the usual pigeon noises- no _clink_ s.

“Hey, what was that?” he questioned.

_“Sorry. I’m perfecting my coin tricks.”_

The irritation in Tristan’s voice ruffled Lance’s feathers, in both the physical and the metaphorical sense. _“Is that really necessary?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“How, pray tell?”_

Lance had assumed Tess was being a smart aleck when she’d answered in the affirmative, so her next words caught him off-guard.

 _“Because,”_ she said, voice trembling, _“if I don’t focus on something other than the fact that I’m playing dress-up as my dead brother, who was secretly a mercenary, I am going to puke.”_

There was a very long silence after that, periodically interrupted by the _clink_ of a coin being dropped.

Walter was the first to speak again. _“You guys should be within sight now. Lance, you got eyes on the chopper?”_

Lance’s back was to the target building, but that didn’t prevent pigeon-vison from giving him a clear view of the helicopter landing on top of it. “Yessir. You guys ready?”

_“As I’ll ever be. Ladies and gents, the Eagle has landed- or the Pigeon, I guess.”_

Lance rolled his eyes as Walter gave a snort of laughter.

_“I thought I was doing all the talking.”_

_“Sorry. Trying to get into character- thought it sounded like something he would say.”_

Lance spoke without thinking. “Tess, you absolutely sure you can handle this?”

Her laugh cracked over the comms. _“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”_

 _“How reassuring,”_ Tristan commented.

 _“Don’t worry, Tess. You got this! I believe in you,”_ Walter reassured.

_“Well, one of us should.”_

Lance winced as he heard one last _clink._


	14. Is This Your Card?

Tristan had suspected his partner was more competent than she was trying to appear, but those suspicions were lost in a wash of irritation on the elevator ride up to the meeting room, where Theresa dropped her trick coin nine times while trying to roll it over her knuckles.

“Is there nothing else you can do to settle your nerves?” he snapped.

The coin hit the floor yet again. Theresa glanced over at him, her expression terse.

“Not unless you want to see a magic trick,” she answered dryly.

“Just so long as it doesn’t involve coins.”

She picked the coin up and pocketed it, drawing out a deck of cards from her jacket and splaying them out.

“Pick a card.”

He did so. It was an ace of hearts, the red shape in the middle bright as a blot of blood against the white background.

Theresa plucked the card from his fingers and slid it back into the deck, never breaking eye contact as she shuffled the cards thoroughly. After a minute, she selected a card and showed it to Tristan. “Is this your card?”

He looked at the nine of spades and scoffed. “No.”

She drew another card, holding it up with two fingers. “Is this your card?”

Tristan raised an eyebrow at the jack of diamonds staring at him. “No.”

Theresa handed him the deck and pulled a card out from her jacket with a flourish, putting her other hand behind her back she presented it to him. “Is _this_ your card?”

He watched her face impassively. “Did you draw the wrong cards before on purpose?”

She nodded, one corner of her mouth twitching upward. “Builds suspense.”

“And did you draw the wrong card this time on purpose?”

She frowned, her brow creasing as her eyes flickered to the deck in his hands before turning the two of spades in hers around to examine it.

At the agency, Tristan had seen that her eyes were hazel, mostly green with brown rims. In the light of the elevator, he noted that they looked all but entirely brown now, with hints of green around the pupils.

One of his people had possessed similar eyes, albeit bluish ones and not hazel. The color would shift from blue to gray to green depending on their surroundings. What had their name been? He couldn’t recall.

He’d known all their names, once. Now he remembered little more than their faces, and sometimes not even that much.

Theresa sighed, giving the card to Tristan as she leaned against the wall of the elevator, crossing her arms. “So what was your card?”

He put the two of spades back in the deck, his eyes catching on a blot of red against white on her sleeve. “Ace of…hearts…”

She grinned, showing off the card she’d taped to her sleeve. “Oh, like this one?”

Beckett’s voice came in over the intercom. _“Is it your card?”_

Tristan peeled the card off her suit and scanned it disbelievingly. “…Yes.”

Beckett whooped as Theresa gave a little bow.

“Impressed?” she asked.

His attention was drawn back to her eyes. There was a light behind them, a fire shining through bronze.

He handed the deck back to her. “An amusing parlor trick.”

“So you were impressed?”

Tristan shrugged slightly. “It was a more tolerable distraction than your attempts at coin tricks.”

She snorted. “Rude.”

This statement was accompanied by a smile, the light in her eyes less fierce, the tension in her posture gone.

Then the elevator door opened, and she tensed again, taut as a rubber band about to snap.

Tristan had suspected his partner was more competent than she appeared. Now he hoped his suspicions were correct.

A man in a dark suit sat at a desk directly across from the open elevator door. His eyes studied them, a predator observing potential prey.

“Killian,” he said. “We’ve been expecting you.”


	15. Starting Bid

Tristan studied the person at the desk. The man wasn’t particularly impressive in stature or looks: his height and build were average, his appearance as generic as the tuxedo he wore. Yet seeing the calculating expression on that thoroughly unmemorable face, Tristan held no doubt that the dark-suited man was the one running the show here. Even as he examined him, he could feel himself being sized up, the man’s eyes sharp despite being undistinctive.

“You have me at a disadvantage,” he remarked, keeping his gaze even. Tristan knew from prior experience in these matters that showing weakness would be a death sentence here, but challenging Mr. Suit without knowledge of his capabilities might prove equally hazardous.

“Ryker Tiryns,” he introduced himself. “I’ll be acting as auctioneer.”

“When does the bidding start?”

Ryker smiled. “Patience, Mr. Killian. I understand you’re a busy man, but surely you’d like to see the goods in person before naming a price?”

He nodded stiffly, scanning the room, which was barren of people save for two guards standing in opposite corners. “I don’t seem to have much competition.”

“ _Perhaps not, but quality over quantity. I trust I’ll prove a formidable opponent in this little bidding war._ ”

Tristan looked at the desk, noticing a computer from which a voice issued. “And you are?”

“ _King Forest. I’d apologize for not appearing in person, but I never do._ ”

Having assessed his rival bidder, McFord allowed his attention to stray to Radmond. She looked tense, though not as much as someone in her situation ought to look. Despite a hint of panic in her eyes, her demeanor was reasonably professional. She was keeping her hands at her sides very deliberately, her jaw clenching every so often. He’d hazard a guess that she was resisting the reflex to bite her lip.

An ordinary person wouldn’t know to do these things. Moreover, even if they were provided with the knowledge, an ordinary person would slip up in execution. Their posture wouldn’t be so practiced, their mannerisms so restrained.

His examination of his partner was interrupted by a side door opening. A large metal box was wheeled through it, being deposited in the center of the room between Tristan and the desk. A short, slight man entered in afterwards, standing by the box with hands folded.

“The starting bid is 30K,” Ryker announced unceremoniously.

“ _Hold it. What happened to actually seeing the goods?_ ” Forest complained, his distorted voice crackling slightly over the computer speakers.

Ryker’s smile didn’t waver. “Ah, of course. Mr. Cipher?”

The slight man nodded and hit a button on his watch. The box split open, the metal retracting and neatly collapsing in on itself to reveal its contents.

Tristan could see that Theresa’s expression didn’t change. He himself didn’t allow his to, though he felt a jolt of shock run up his spine as he saw what he’d come to bid for.

Beckett’s voice summed up his thoughts neatly. _“What is that?”_

A beast stood in front of the desk, front limbs chained down, head locked in some contraption that prevented him from discerning its features. Its body was covered with patches of fur, scarred skin visible where flesh lay uncovered. It made no sound save for labored breathing.

McFord activated his mechanical eye silently, struggling to intuit what manner of creature it was. His scan revealed more injures hidden beneath the fur, webs of white lines splaying out over its form. The fur also exaggerated the thing’s size- it was large, but not as much at it first appeared to be, perhaps the size of a man.

Then he saw a yellowed eye peering out wildly from its headgear, and realization hit.

“Gentlemen, meet Project Lycan,” the short man said, his gaze fixed on the unfortunate soul bound in the middle of the room. “Mr. Tiryns insisted on the restraints, but despite first impressions, I can assure you that the subject is entirely safe.”

“To whoever he’s working for, at least,” Ryker added, teeth flashing briefly in a condescending grin. In the time it took to blink, Tiryns’s expression switched to neutral, his tone businesslike, his forgettable eyes piercing.

“30K, gentlemen. Who’ll start the bidding?”


	16. Cipher

_Theresa Radmond, you are not going to puke._

Tess hadn’t been lying in the elevator- failing at coin tricks was the only reason her guts hadn’t tried to exit her body. Now, standing in a room with some unholy creature that had apparently been human at some point, there was nothing to distract her from the churning in her gut.

The eyes were the worst part. Out of that _thing’s_ face, vividly green, vividly _human_ eyes stared blankly. They watched the room, gaze dull and emotionless.

Terry had looked like that sometimes. Not like a werewolf, but blank, empty. She’d caught him staring out the window at nothing on multiple occasions, sometimes teasing him for being a space cadet.

He was usually like that in her nightmares. She’d see him standing, staring, completely unaware of her. She’d walk up to him, snap her fingers, tap his shoulder, repeat his name louder and louder.

Then he’d turn, and his eyes would be gouged out, his face scratched and bloody.

She wondered if she looked spacey, standing here, fighting to keep her face blank, unable to look directly at the monster in the middle of the room. Probably not. Her jaw was clenched so tightly she was pretty sure she could feel her teeth fracturing.

_Why did I agree to do this?_

“30K,” Tristan said, his expression unwavering.

 _“40K,”_ Forest countered.

_“Was that a door opening?”_

Tess remembered that Walter couldn’t see anything. She glanced over at her partner, clenching her jaw again to keep from biting her lip.

“45K.”

“50K.”

“55K.”

She tasted bile and gagged. Tristan glared at her before turning to Ryker.

“Apologies, but could my associate be dismissed?”

Ryker nodded curtly and gestured to one of his men, who strode over to Tess and indicated for her to follow him.

Exiting the room via the same side door that the wolfman had entered through, Tess was led down a hallway and to a set of restrooms. She nearly reached for the women’s door before remembering her role, stumbling into the men’s bathroom with a hand to her mouth before kneeling at the toilet.

_“Tess, are you okay?”_

She burped and moved her hand to her forehead, breathing in through her mouth before answering. “Not really. The weapon- the thing they’re bidding on- it’s…it…”

She choked and leaned over the porcelain bowl, blinking away the picture of those sickly green eyes. “It’s a _person,_ Walter. Or it was. He’s a person.”

_“The weapon is a human?”_

“Not anymore. I don’t know what they did to him, but it’s not pretty.”

There was a knock at the bathroom door. Tess rubbed her eyes, shouting through the barrier. “Occupied!”

“You’d best finish up, _Magician._ I have a few questions about your act.”

Tess felt her stomach lurch violently, though in a different fashion than previously. _Lucius._

She stood up and opened the door. The slight man from the room smiled up at her, nudging his glasses up on his nose.

“Hello,” he greeted her cordially.

Something sharp dug into the back of her neck, and Tess let out a cry of pain before she could bite her tongue. Her hand involuntarily lifted to her ear, ripping out her earpiece, which was crushed as her fingers crumpled into a fist.

Lucius Cipher checked his watch, adjusting a dial on it before returning his attention to Tess. “Now that that’s taken care of, let’s have a little chat.”


	17. Broken Mask

It was strange, seeing Lucius Cipher in person.

Tess had only ever “met” the man over the phone, usually a burner. She’d known that there was someone on the other end of the line, but there was something disorienting about putting a face to the man she’d learned to think of as a disembodied voice. Or maybe it was just his face that was disorienting. His eyes were strangely wide, as if he were trying not to blink. His cheeks were hollow, and every other minute she spotted the flicker of his very pink tongue sliding between his teeth.

They were in a small room with a table and two chairs set across from each other. Cipher gestured for her to take a seat, only sitting after she had. His eerie gaze fixed on the side of her head.

“That’s new,” he commented, folding his hands.

Tess resisted the urge to touch the scar on her temple. “What do you want?”

“To talk. I don’t suppose you remember me?”

She pictured a mask overlaying her features, impassive and fragile. _Don’t let the mask break, Tess._ “Should I?”

Cipher drew something out of his sleeve. Tess saw the glint of metal before feeling the chill of steel at her throat, mirroring the biting pain at the back of her neck.

His hand was trembling ever so slightly as he spoke. “‘For my next trick, let’s make you bleed.’ Does that ring a bell, Magician?”

Tess snorted derisively. “Hate to break it to you, but you’re not the only one I’ve used that line with.”

“Oh? And here I thought I was special.”

Cipher’s voice dripped scorn as he ran the blade under her chin. Tess didn’t let her gaze drift downward, didn’t let herself look at the silver shine just above the pulse hammering in her throat.

“Are you going to kill me, or what?” she spat.

“Why should I? You’re more than capable of killing yourself.”

Her hand grasped the scalpel, keeping it held tight to her neck as Cipher released his grip. Tess felt her breathing speed up as she felt a trickle of blood on her skin.

“A marvelous little trick, isn’t it?” Cipher cooed. “How many suicides have you faked with this, I wonder.”

Saltwater stung her eyes as the blade pressed in further. Tess drew in a slow breath, fighting to steady her voice. “You helped make it.”

“And you used it against me.”

The scalpel clattered to the floor. Tess gasped as something tore away from the back of her neck, wetting her collar with warmth as _something_ skittered down the sleeve of her suit. She caught a glimpse of liquid red on metal before Cipher plucked the device up, tucking it into his coat. He smirked at her a moment before seeing her expression.

Tess cursed mentally. _You let the mask break._

She hastily forced her features to neutral, but the damage was done. Cipher had seen her mask crack; he’d glimpsed the fear underneath.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

Tess didn’t answer, stomach roiling as she felt blood soak into her shirt. _I hope the Agency has dry cleaning._

Cipher reached out without warning, pressing firmly on her scar with two fingers. She swore and pulled away, the legs of her chair scraping the floor. “What was that for?”

He frowned contemplatively. “It’s not a disguise? Hm. You’re quite a good likeness, then.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re not Magician.”

Tess’s blood froze. “What?”

Cipher eyed her appraisingly. “You’re not him, so how would you know- ah. His contact.”

He held out his hand as if expecting her to shake it. “A pleasure to meet you in person, though I suspect the feeling’s not mutual.”

She slapped his hand away. “Screw you.”

“Am I incorrect?”

Tess got up from her chair and strode over to the door. “Are you going to say anything?”

“What happened to him?”

She paused, hand on the doorknob. “…He’s dead.”

Cipher studied her a moment before nodding. “Well, it’s none of my business.”

She opened the door, bit her lip, and closed it again.

“I’m sorry that he did that to you,” Tess told him.

Cipher shrugged. “It’s not as if I was the only one.”

She exhaled, touching the wound at the base of her skull. Her fingers came away bloody. She wiped them on her shirt collar, wincing.

“I know.”


	18. Tracker

Tristan was already out by the helicopter by the time Tess rejoined him. Lance watched the two intently, blinking in disbelief as he saw the splotch of red on Tess’s jacket. “Whoa, is that-”

 _“Why are you covered in blood?”_ Tristan asked, his voice flat.

Lance couldn’t see her expression, but Tess’s voice sounded pained. _“Later.”_

 _“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait. Blood?”_ Walter cut in, sounding vaguely panicked. _“What-”_

 _“ **Later** ,” _she repeated.

_“Lance, we’re going to need an amnesiac dosage. Think you can sneak into the building?”_

Lance glanced over at Lovey, who was watching the chopper just as steadily.

“You wanna check in on her when they get back to base?” he requested.

She cooed in agreement and flew off.

Walter dabbed at the wound gently with a damp cloth, carefully placing the Unitee bandage over it as he questioned Tess. “He figured it out?”

She nodded, clenching her jaw.

“How?”

“Apparently Magician had gotten up close and personal with him in the past. As for the other thing…” Tess crossed her arms, chewing her lip. “There were only three people who knew about our collaborative project, and Forest was in the meeting. Process of elimination.”

Walter’s brow creased. “Well, after an amnesiac dosage Cipher should forget what he figured out.”

Tess put her palm over the Unitee bandage briefly before standing up, placing a hand on Walter’s back.

“Sorry. Cover blown on the first mission- some kind of spy I am, huh?” she joked weakly.

There was a coo. Lovey fluttered into the room, flying to Tess and perching on her shoulder. She nuzzled her cheek affectionately before hopping over to Walter. Walter smiled and stroked the top of Lovey’s head.

“We didn’t know Cipher would be there. Anyway, your cover’s still safe for now.”

Tess smiled, ruffling Walter’s hair so that it stuck up. He laughed and swatted her hand away.

_Cut it out!_

_C’mon, Tear-Bear. I have to mess with you a little, it’s my job as a big sister._

Terry stuck his tongue out at her. _Butthead._

_Love you too, bro._

She froze, untangling the memory of her brother’s crinkled nose and crooked smirk from Walter’s grinning face. Walter noticed, his expression twisting back to concerned. “Tess?”

Tess put on her mask, willing it not to crack. “I’m fine.” She licked her lips as if that would get the taste of the lie out of her mouth.

Tristan rolled the tracker between his fingers, studying Radmond as she walked to the car.

She seemed to pick up on his watching, her gaze flickering in his direction a moment before he began to approach her.

“Tristan,” she said carefully, as if the word might break in her mouth.

“Radmond.”

“You don’t have to call me by my last name,” she pointed out, sucking on her lip briefly as she reached for the car door.

“Theresa.”

She startled when he put his hand on her shoulder, turning her eyes back up to his face. He leaned in closer, staring her down as he clicked the tracker into place behind her arm. Radmond didn’t notice. Her line of sight was fixed solely on Tristan, as he’d intended it to be.

“I know you’re hiding something,” he whispered.

Her throat pulsed as she swallowed. “Like what?”

He narrowed his eyes at her as he released his grip, backing away before Sterling or Kappel saw the confrontation.

“Won’t be hidden for long,” he promised quietly.

Judging from the way her eyes widened, Tristan guessed Radmond had heard that promise.


	19. What Just Happened?

It was quite a drive from the agency to Radmond’s place.

Tristan had his own tracker courtesy of Beckett: one of the multiple alterations to his facial prosthetic provided by the head of the H.T.U.V.’s nonlethal division. This meant that the agency knew of his whereabouts at all times. However, it was this limitation that granted McFord more freedom of movement than previously- he was now allowed to be outside, though he was required to adhere to a curfew and wasn’t permitted to leave the state. All things considered, he was on a very long leash. A leash nonetheless, which Tristan resented, but he could at least appreciate what its length let him get away with.

For example, letting him track Radmond back to her residence.

“Agent” McFord didn’t have access to any of the agency’s vehicles, at least not without permission from higher authority, but he did have a bus pass. Getting off at a café a block down from where Radmond’s tracker indicated she lived, Tristan made his way to a mediocre-looking apartment building. The front door’s lock was a simple deadbolt, one that might’ve deterred the traditional bobby pin but not a mechanical finger.

Radmond’s door on the fourth floor evidently had a similar lock to the apartment’s main door, judging from how easily Tristan was able to pick it. He made no sound as he slipped out of the hallway, closing the door behind him.

The apartment was dark. Evidently Radmond had gone to bed not long after returning home. Tristan approached the only closed door within the room, glimpsing a mirror through the open door next to it.

“ _Mrow_.”

He paused, glancing down at the creature wrapping herself around his feet. The cat’s eyes glinted green as she stared up at him, tail twitching.

“ _Mrow_ ,” she repeated, louder this time, and put her front paws up on his leg.

Tristan sighed and plucked the animal up, noting the feline’s back legs were artificial. He lifted her up to his shoulders experimentally. She gladly twined herself about his shoulders, her purring rumbling against his neck.

Having successfully silenced Radmond’s pet, Tristan opened the bedroom door, stroking the feline on his shoulders to keep it placated.

Making his way to the nightstand, he turned on the bedside lamp, illuminating Radmond’s sleeping form. He set the cat on the bed gently, waiting for her mistress to wake.

Despite the light in the room, Radmond remained deep in slumber, not even stirring. Tristan frowned, reaching down to tap her shoulder.

Radmond bolted upright, scrambling out of her bed and falling gracelessly to the floor on the side opposite from him, her eyes frantic as she stared up at the intruder. “It’s not my fault!”

Taken aback by the random exclamation, Tristan stepped around the bed so that he stood between Radmond and the door. “What?”

She gaped up at him, apparently shaking off the remnants of whatever dream she’d been in the middle of. She blinked repeatedly, rubbing her eyes as she got to her feet.

“This is new,” she remarked blankly.

Tristan clicked a button on his mechanical arm and a spray of glitter burst out, regaling them both with the image of a purring kitten.

Radmond blinked again, her expression softening as she took in the sparkling picture. “Awwww.”

Tristan hissed in frustration and hit a different button, releasing a cloud of green smoke with a lavender scent.

Radmond’s eyes widened as she was enveloped in sweet-smelling mist.

“No. No, no, no, no, no,” she muttered frantically.

Tristan raised an eyebrow. “Do you have a problem with lavender, Ms. Radmond?”

She inhaled sharply, running her hands through her hair. “This is truth serum, isn’t it?”

“You recognize this.”

Radmond nodded, her breathing picking up pace. “Walter used it before. He…I couldn’t stop. I kept talking and talking and…”

She crumpled to the ground, hyperventilating, tears forming in her eyes.

“I can’t- I can’t breathe,” she choked. “I can’t-”

Tristan knelt in front of her, seeing the panic in her face. He felt his chest tighten as her eyes bore into his.

“What’s happening?” he asked, keeping his voice even.

“P-p-panic at-at-” She sobbed. “P-p-”

“Panic attack,” he realized.

The cat leapt down from the bed, pressing herself up against Radmond’s legs and purring comfortingly. Tristan put one hand on her arm, using a mechanical finger to lift her chin when she threatened to break eye contact.

He set his artificial hand on her jaw, careful not to grab her. “Breathe, Radmond.”

Her mouth hung open, her eyes wild. “I’m dying.”

“Panic attacks aren’t fatal.”

She began sobbing in earnest, clutching at his shoulders. “I don’t want to die.”

“You’re not going to,” he told her firmly.

Radmond curled her knees to her chest as she rocked on her heels, her sobs interrupted by the beginnings of a giggling fit.

“W-w-wh. Why are- why are you in my room?” she laughed, hiding her face in her hands.

He hesitated. “You’re hiding something.”

She took a shaky breath, lifting her head. “The s-ser. The stuff. Truth stuff. That’s what it was for?”

Tristan nodded, frowning. “What are you hiding?”

Another laugh burst out of her, loud and sudden. “Hi-hi-hide- I’m terrified! All the time! He says it’s not my fault but it is my fault and I see them and they watch me even when I wake up and _now you’re in my room and I’m going to die-_ ”

“You are _not_ going to die.”

She half-laughed, half-sobbed, and threw herself into his arms.

“I didn’t know,” she managed between sputtering breaths. “I didn’t ask.”

Tristan embraced her firmly, wondering how in the world things had come to this.


	20. Fine Work

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tess was back in the meeting room, staring disbelievingly at Terry’s picture.

“How can that be him?” she croaked. “How is that my baby brother?”

Walter wrapped his arms around her silently, letting her cry into his shirt.

“I don’t understand. I just don’t…I don’t…”

“Tess.”

She pulled away, eyes wet and wide as she took in Walter’s sober face.

“He had…stuff. Some guns and knives, but most of it’s more specialized.” Walter hesitated. “We’re not even sure what all of his gadgets do yet, but we have an idea of who made them.”

Tess stiffened. “…Who?”

Walter frowned. “The Agency doesn’t know everyone he got paid _by_ , but we’ve tracked down everyone he’s made payments _to_. You’ve received hundreds of thousands of dollars from him.”

Her voice was shaky. “He commissioned me for things sometimes.”

“Things like weapons.”

Tess wrapped her arms around herself, gaze fixed on the floor. “I’m not responsible for what people do with what I make.”

“Did you know?”

She looked up. “No. He never told me.”

She blinked, her nose suddenly filled with the scent of lavender. Walter clicked a pen and tucked it back into his pocket.

“Tess. Did you know?”

“ _No,_ ” she repeated fiercely, suddenly feeling defensive. What was with that smell? “I didn’t know he was a mercenary. I thought he might’ve gotten in over his head, but nothing like this.”

Tess blinked again, shaking her head. The words kept spilling from her mouth, unbidden. “I wasn’t lying. We didn’t keep secrets, we just…didn’t ask each other about some things. I didn’t ask why he was paying me to make weapons. I never ask my customers about what they’re buying. I just make it.”

Her breathing was coming faster, her chest tightening. “I can’t think about what I’m making. If I think about it, I-I-I…”

Walter was staring at her. She wanted to stop talking. Why couldn’t she stop?

“I have nightmares,” she blurted. “I see people, dead. Hanging by their necks from nothing. Bleeding on the ground. Bodies, broken, twisted. There’s one thing in common. All of them, all of them stare at me. I wake up, get up, go about my day, but I can- I can still feel them staring.”

Her voice was rising frantically, her lungs struggling to draw in enough air, and still the words came. “I can’t think about what I’m making. I can’t ask what I helping to do, because if I think about it, I’ll break. I can’t think about what I’m doing.”

Walter put a hand on her arm. “Tess-”

“I’m not responsible for what people choose to do with what I make. I’m not a murderer.”

Tess knelt on the floor, gripping her head in her hands. Her heart was racing, her chest contracting.

_I’m dying._

“But I’m as good as one.”

Things began to blur. Tess was vaguely aware of Walter talking to her, his hand still on her arm.

“I think this is a panic attack. You could be having an adverse reaction to the truth serum. Focus on your breathing, okay? Everything’s fine.”

“I’m dying,” she croaked, the words barely making it past her lips.

“It feels serious, but you’ll be fine, I promise. I’ll run a check on the formula to see if there’s a genetic component that triggers this so we can avoid it in the future.”

_It’s not genetic,_ she managed to think through a haze of panic. _This serum forces you to tell the truth. I lie to myself. I lie to myself every day to keep this from happening._

_“This isn’t your fault.”_

“It’s my fault,” she choked.

She bowed her head, tears streaming down her cheeks as Walter wrapped his arms around her again.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“I made him weapons,” Tess confessed.

Tristan was sitting on the floor next to her, his back against the bedframe as Niki lay in his lap. Tess could hear her cat purring as McFord stroked her methodically.

“But you didn’t know he was a mercenary?” Tristan commented skeptically.

Tess bit her lip, tasting iron. “I suspected. I never knew, technically. He never told me; I never asked.”

She knew that if she looked to her right, just a bit, she’d see eyes burning blue from a face half-masked with scars.

“I used to have a scar,” she admitted suddenly, reaching up and running her fingers along the one on her temple.

Tristan frowned. “You do have a scar.”

“You noticed?”

“It’s difficult not to when you’re pointing it out.”

She dropped her hand, clutching at her arm self-consciously. “It used to be more obvious. In high school, there was this science project that blew up in my face, literally. I was wearing goggles, so I didn’t go blind or anything, but it burned my skin here.” She indicated her left temple again. “After that, everybody called me Scarface.”

“Including your brother?”

Tess smiled. “Nah, not Terry. He beat up a junior once because he heard him calling me that.”

She blinked as she saw Tristan’s hand hovering inches from her face.

“May I?” he asked.

Not entirely sure of what he meant, she nodded, inhaling sharply as his fingers pressed lightly against her temple.

“Did the scarring fade that much?” he inquired, running his thumb over smooth skin.

She shook her head. “Got a skin graft when I was twenty-three. There’s a little scar left over from surgery, but that’s it.”

He pulled his hand away, and she let out a breath she only just realized she’d been holding.

“Is that really all you’ve been hiding?”

“I helped make your arm,” Tess admitted, compelled by the serum.

Tristan scoffed. “I knew that.”

“The old one too. And your face.”

That gave him pause. “What?”

“Cipher commissioned me for prosthetics with very niche specifications. A facial covering outfitted with the ability to imitate other faces, and a mechanical arm that could remotely control other technologies.”

She heard him snort and risked turning to face him.

He was smiling, almost laughing, his eyes sparking with amusement as he examined his artificial limb. “Fine work you did.”

Tess grinned sheepishly. “I do my best.”


	21. Project Lycan

Walter drummed his fingers on the desk as he talked through the comms.

“Okay, is the weapon secured?”

_“Yeah, he’s in the back. Everything’s cool so far.”_

Tristan gave an exasperated sigh. _“Can we turn Sterling back into a pigeon?”_

_“Heck no! I’m not gonna go around with a cloaca if I don’t have to.”_

_“Walter, the boys are fighting,”_ Tess joked.

_“Hey, he started it.”_

_“You started it when you blew up my face, Sterling.”_

“Guys! Play nice,” Walter reprimanded.

_“You blew up his face?”_

_“Not on purpose.”_

_“Oh, no, it certainly wasn’t on purpose,”_ Tristan remarked snidely. _“Just another bit of collateral damage as Agent Sterling stopped the ‘bad guys.’”_

There was a painfully long silence.

_“So…anyone want to see a magic trick?”_

Lance and Tristan groaned in unison.

_“Lady, if you drop that coin one more time-”_

_“-I’m not picking another card-”_

_“-okay, okay, it was just a suggestion!”_

Walter breathed a sigh of relief as Sterling and McFord found one point they could vehemently agree on.

Seeing Project Lycan in person was disturbing, to say the least.

From what information he’d managed to catch from Tess during the mission, Walter had gathered that the weapon was viscerally disturbing. Still, that hadn’t prepared him for how _wrong_ the man looked. Uncovered by headgear, the scars on the subject’s face were on full display, webbed lines threaded across the man’s visage. His teeth were canine in nature, which was only obvious due to the pained grimace the subject’s face was twisted up into. His shoulders were hunched, his neck bent, his all-too-human eyes glassy and blank.

Walter held out his hand cautiously. “Hi. I’m Walter Beckett.”

The man blinked, recognition filling those yellowed eyes. “Walter Beckett?”

Walter gulped, wondering whether he should start backing away. “Yes…”

Project Lycan began making a hoarse coughing noise. It took Walter a moment to realize that he was laughing.

“Cipher mentioned you,” he rasped. “Said your papers on the human genome were of ‘invaluable assistance’ to his research.”

Walter squeezed his hand into a fist. “I’m sorry.”

The wolfish man scoffed. “What for? You’re not the one who did this to me.”

He held out his clawed fingers. His long, ragged nails scraped against Walter’s wrist as they shook hands.

Tess saw the wolfman before she saw Walter, even though the scientist was standing between her and the subject.

“You’ve met Project Lycan before, but I thought it might be good to have a proper introduction,” Walter announced.

He stood there awkwardly for a moment before darting away, leaving Tess alone with Project Lycan.

Tess gulped. “Um. Hi. I’m-”

“Theresa Radmond,” the wolfman interrupted. “Your friends call you Tess.”

“Uh…yeah, they do. And what do your friends call you?”

“The K-9 unit,” he said.

Tess squinted at him, confused. “Wait, really?”

He chuckled. “No. I’m just messing with you. I have to, a little: it’s my job as a baby brother. Right, Reese’s Pieces?”

Her heart stopped. She stared into his eyes, her throat constricting.

“Terry?”

Terrence Radmond grinned crookedly down at his sister. “Hey, Tess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to XxStar-BluesxX for giving me the idea to make Terry Project Lycan.


	22. Final Act

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

When Terry woke up, he knew where he was.

He’d been here before, seen the subjects lying out on the tables (or what was left of them). He’d grimaced, looked away, because however used he was to the sight of blood he was _never_ going to be comfortable with the abominations cobbled together on the tables.

Now he was on one of those same tables, strapped down, whole body numb as he strained to look at himself. He was naked save for bandages wrapped around his torso, red forming wide bloody splotches on white.

“Hello, Mr. Radmond.”

Terry couldn’t move anything except for his eyes, so he wasn’t able to turn his head to see who was talking. He recognized Cipher’s voice, though.

“You look like him,” Cipher commented, and suddenly Terry had full view of the man’s face. Cipher was peering down at him, his gaze suspicious. “Perhaps they really did manage to track down Magician this time, and not some unlucky doppelganger.”

Cipher stepped away from the table. Terry stared at the ceiling, squinting against the glare of the lights.

“No matter. Regardless if they shot their intended target, Project Lycan requires a subject. I do hope you are him, though. He put me through quite a bit of pain, and I intend to return the favor.”

Terry felt a needle pierce his neck. His world blurred, then blinked out.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Terry really should’ve seen the slap coming.

He reeled back, face stinging as his sister glared him down.

“I thought you were dead!” she snarled.

He shrugged. “I thought I was too.”

She grabbed her scalp with both hands, breathing hard. “You- you’re a mercenary. You’ve _killed_ people, and you never told me.”

“What did you _think_ I was using those weapons for, sis? You don’t hack somebody’s nervous system to help them have a better day.”

She punched him in the arm before throwing her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder.

“I think it was easier when you were dead,” she muttered.

He lifted her off the ground slightly, squeezing her like a stuffed animal. “Missed you too, Tess.”

“Then Magician’s _not_ dead,” Marcy clarified.

“Nope. Just got turned into a werewolf.” Lance leaned back in his chair. “And you thought a guy with a robot hand was Scooby-Doo.”

Marcy sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I know we’re supposed to be Team Weird, but this is…it’s just insane.”

Lance looked over at Walter, who was fiddling with the Multi-Pen as Lovey perched on his shoulder. “So now what?”

“We planted trackers on Tiryns and Cipher at the exchange, so the agency tracked them down and took them into custody,” Walter explained.

“Huh. Kind of anticlimactic.”

“Hey, mission accomplished. That’s what matters, right?”

The three of them paused as Tess walked past them, rolling a coin over her knuckles.

“Tess will continue to go undercover as Magician until we take down all of his affiliates,” Walter continued as the person in question disappeared down the hallway.

“Hopefully all her other missions go as smooth as this one,” Lance commented. “Uh, except for the whole cover getting blown bit.”

Marcy nodded. “Well, with Cipher in our custody, no one should notice Magician’s been replaced.”

Tess stood outside Cipher’s cell door. It was glass, affording her full view of the man inside.

“So you’re his twin brother?” Cipher asked.

Tess glared at him. “Sister, actually.”

“Ah. Apologies- your gender wasn’t apparent over the phone.”

She grit her teeth. “You hurt my brother.”

“And he hurt me. Can you blame me for wanting a bit of payback?”

She shrugged, tapping a button on the watch she wore. “I guess not.”

Cipher’s eyes widened as he glimpsed a metallic flash on the floor of his cell. He looked up at Tess disbelievingly. “You wouldn’t.”

“What? You’re the only one allowed to get payback?”

Cipher flinched as he felt a pain at the base of his neck. “There’ll be traces.”

“Nothing they can prove, though. Isn’t that right?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but whatever he was about to say froze in his throat as he felt his teeth close over his tongue. He stared out at her, paralyzed by fear and the device latched to his neck.

“Just another suicide under suspicious circumstances.”

 _You’re not a killer,_ Cipher would have said if he were able. _You’re not like your brother._

He would have said it. He would have even believed it, if he hadn’t seen her dead-eyed expression.

“For my next trick,” she whispered, “let’s make you bleed.”

His teeth bit down, slicing through his tongue, and Cipher screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading. I might do some SiD oneshots in the future separate from this fic, but for now, this magician is performing a disappearing act.


End file.
